


Where There Is Hope

by snekjin



Category: GLAM (band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Ensemble Cast, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13341801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snekjin/pseuds/snekjin
Summary: He would win, he started to say to himself. He didn’t have to play by their rules but he would find a way out of this somehow.A multifandom Hunger Games AU where different kpop companies represent each district.





	Where There Is Hope

For the two of them, work finished early on the day of the reaping. Taehyung had lost track of time almost intentionally, wading through a dry forest of waist-deep maize as the sun licked at his back like an angry beast. He was summoned by a sharp whistle from his supervisor and upon turning was greeted by the sight of the rest of his same-age friends crowded around the back of a work truck. Only Jimin spun to look at him—the rest deep in troubled thought—and despite his barely discernible expression, turned narrow by the harsh sunlight, his nervousness was apparent too. They all knew where they’d be by the end of the afternoon. He was helped into the back of the truck by an anonymous hand and settled into his seat and his fate.

All citizens would be expected to gather in the town square sooner or later but those who were eligible for this years reaping were expected to head to the city earlier. To be groomed for the scrutinising inspection of the Capitol’s scouts.

The other workers were still out in the fields for now but had stilled to watch them off, that familiar feeling of pain and helplessness all too present in the stifling air.

Taehyung could feel his father’s gaze upon him.

He did not return it.

 

Jimin usually complained endlessly when his mother fussed over his hair and clothes but today he had nothing to say. Just let her calloused hands comb gently over his sun-pink scalp. She’d already forced him into his nicest clothes—the ones with all the buttons still attached and no holes torn by barbed wire fences he should never have been climbing over in the first place. Her fingers were rough against the skin of his neck as she straightened his collar, deep groves permanently blackened from years of manual labour. But she was well enough. She was alive. Which was more than he could necessarily guarantee for himself in the coming days.

As if reading his thoughts, his mother looked up and meet his eyes in the mirror, gaze hard in the centre but soft around the edges.

“Just keep your head down and stay quiet. It won’t be you,” she said. “It won’t be you.”

She repeated it like a mantra and he liked to think she was sure her words would change the future if she believed in them enough.

 

Jungkook met the two of them at the edge of the square, rambunctious as ever despite the day.

“Nice haircut,” Jimin teased, tickling behind the other’s ear. “You look like a five year old.”

Evidently his own mother had done some grooming of her own, trimmed his flat black hair into boyish bangs, parted to the side. He did look younger than usual when his face was cleaned of its usual dirt, Taehyung noted with a fond smile, but of course because he was two years younger than the other pair he would always be the kid brother.

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged looks that were laced with a dozen unspoken sentiments. Although Jungkook’s boyish charms were usually a source of refreshment, now they had them more scared than ever. Because even though Jungkook was younger—just a kid in their eyes, sometimes—the chance of his name being called was exactly the same. And every year Taehyung found himself growing more and more afraid. Not even for himself. It was easier not to think about himself. But for his friends and his family, his old schoolmates and the kids next door.

With every year that went by in which none of their names were called, he only got more anxious, certain that that meant their chances were dwindling. Statistically he knew that wasn’t really right. Because with every year that went by, and every pair of kids that got marched off to their inevitable demise—and it was always death, the 9th district hadn’t won in over a decade—there were new kids coming of age, becoming eligible.

Somebody’s name would be called and it would probably be somebody he knew.

Before Jungkook could retort by kicking dirt in Jimin’s general direction he caught sight of the rows of Peacekeepers that were lining up around the edges of the town squares. It was already a sterile enough place as it was, slabs of old, cracked concrete fenced by dull council buildings and an open-air stage, but now the presence of the Capitol swarmed in the air like a sickness. Jimin felt like if he breathed in too quickly he’d choke on it.

Taehyung pulled them in, an arm around each pair of shoulders, reluctant to let himself be shepherded by faceless men in white. Familiar faces were already lining up in front of the stage in practiced rows. Just like many of them had done last year and the year before that.

Jungkook reluctantly split off, moving to go stand by his own classmates, and the older two navigated into the proper line.

It wasn’t silent yet because most of the candidates and townspeople were still gathering. Jimin jerked his head back and forth as he took everything in, scanning the crowds for anybody recognizable.

The 9th’s former victors were already on the stage. He could see them hanging back in the shadows, talking amongst themselves. There were only two victors out of District 9, which should have had him nervous, but then there were other districts like 12 that had even worse success.

Zinni was the older of the two and had competed in the games when Jimin was only small. He didn’t understand why his family had been so happy, tears of joy running down his mother’s face. Zinni had been the first tribute from their district to come out of the games alive and had brought back winnings in the form for food for all of her fellow countrymen. She now lived in the illustrious Victor’s Village with her family alongside the district’s other victor, RM.

RM was a more familiar face to Jimin because he’d been older when he’d seen that edition of the games, broadcast to a hundred wide-eyed schoolkids in the local gymnasium. After he’d won RM had done a tour of the few schools in District 9, answering all the questions that were slingshotted at him by curious students. The younger boys looked up to him as an idol. A symbol of hope—the idea that if one day they had to face off in the arena, they might actually stand a chance against the more well-practiced districts.

But Zinni and RM had mentored every tribute since then, as was the custom set by the Capitol, and as of yet none of them had come out of it alive.

Jimin’s focus must have lapsed because by the time he realized he was staring, that stare was being returned back at him. RM’s eyes met his and he flinched, looking away with embarrassment. Jimin wondered if he remembered him at all. The district wasn’t huge after all and once upon a time Jimin had been one of those boys who looked up at him like he was a god amongst mortals standing at the front of the classroom. It wasn’t until later than Jimin realised his hero was barely more than a boy himself.

He wondered what his real name was. He must have had one before. But when you went to the Capitol they took your name from you. They took everything you could possibly give. Some say that even those who win the games don’t win at all. That you’re doomed from the moment that slip of paper branded with your name touches the fingertips of the Capitol’s representative.

Jimin sometimes had daydreams of what would happen if he were chosen to compete in the games. He liked to imagine himself winning with ease, striking down every tribute that opposed him. And then he’d get to live in a nice big house with enough room for his whole family. And Jungkook and Taehyung’s family’s too. And they’d never be hungry again.

But it was just a childish fantasy. One he prayed would never even come close to coming true.

 

The crowds of familiar faces filled in around them. People they’d gone to school with. The other farmers who shared the fields with them every sweltering afternoon. Kids from down the street barely filling out their hand-me-down clothes who were finally old enough to be eligible for the reaping for the first time. _It wasn’t fair_.

 

_The reaping_. Taehyung closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of a scythe in his hands as he worked the fields. Wheat falling effortlessly to the wayside under the sharp edge of the blade. He imagined somebody’s throat tucked up against the scythe and opened his eyes.

The click of heeled shoes on the stage stirred him from his destructive thoughts and he looked up to see the Capitol’s represent moving towards the podium. He was a strange looking man, as all residents of the Capitol were, all unnaturally bright hair and uncomfortably pale skin— _unlike you peasants who toil the fields all day_. He wasn’t particularly tall, although the heels made him artificially so, and Taehyung would’ve been surprised by his eccentric appearance, including sequins and glitter and diamante-clad skin, if he hadn’t seen him every year prior at this unwelcome event.

Silence fell without being requested and he cleared his throat into the microphone.

“I’m your hope, I’m your angel!” he chirped gleefully, unfazed by the thousands of sombre expressions in the crowd.

J-Hope hummed thoughtfully, fingers tracing the rim of each large glass bowl decorating the table at his side. They were separated by gender and filled with scraps of papers, hundreds of them, each representing an eligible candidate. Taehyung wondered if his name was near the bottom and then he wondered if it even mattered.

Members of the local governance were onstage as well, he noticed eventually. The mayor and members of the board, nodding along quietly at J-Hope’s anticipated antics. He launched into a recital of the story of the hunger games—it’s rules and origins. Taehyung clenched his teeth at the implication that the people of the districts were at fault. That they deserved this poverty. And that this punishment—sending one boy and one girl into a televised deathmatch—was a just punishment.

“I won’t waste any more of your time,” J-Hope trilled. “I’m sure you’re all _dying_ to know who the lucky tributes are that will represent this district with honour in the games this year.”

He clasped one gloved fist into the other and didn’t even bother to look up at the despondent faces of the crowd, eyes locked on the mesmerizing allure of the glass bowls. For a member of the Capitol, this was a thrilling event, determining the basis of this district’s annual story. One that would no doubt end in tragedy as usual.

“Ladies first!” J-Hope exclaimed with glee and darted an eager hands into one of the bowls.

He fished around playfully for a moment before withdrawing and presenting his findings.

“ _Lee Miso!_ ” he read in that ever-present joyful tone.

Jimin and Taehyung shared a nervous glance. Every year they’d hoped it would at least be somebody they didn’t really know but Miso was far too close to home. She was the same age as they were, a former classmate. Her birthday was only a few days after Jimin’s—when they’d been younger and school birthday parties weren’t entirely outside the norm, they’d been thrown a joint one to save Youngjin’s mother, who ran the local bakery, from having to make two cakes.

Miso sat on an old wooden chair on the stage in front of everybody, clutching the piece of paper with her name on it and crying uncontrollably but all Jimin could hear was her laughter like wind chimes as they smeared birthday frosting on each other’s faces.

And now there was nothing standing between Jimin, Taehyung and the wrath of the Capitols’ indecisive grasp.

Their hands met in a crushing grip, an unspoken competition of who could break the others’ fingers first.

“It won’t be me, it won’t be me,” Jimin was repeating under his breath and Taehyung wanted to kick him in the shin. To tell him to shut up because it wouldn’t make a damn difference. But he didn’t. He let Jimin have this. This one scrap of hope that might get him through the next sixty seconds in one piece.

J-hope squinted at his next slip of paper and breathed into the microphone with that putrid air he carried all the way from the Capitol.

“ _Kim Taehyung_.”

His first sarcastic thought was that maybe if he’d said ‘ _It won’t be me’_ this wouldn’t have happened. He wasn’t even sure if he walked there himself or if he was marched up to the stage by stern Peacekeepers but Jimin’s hand was no longer in his and he was no longer in control of his own life.

He looked back, eyes wide, searching for Jimin, for his family, _for anything_.

Taehyung was halfway up the steps when he turned back and saw that Jungkook had broken free into the aisle, looking heartbroken and determined all at once.

“Don’t you dare,” Taehyung snarled in a nasty voice he didn’t even realise he possessed.

The younger flinched, looking more hopeless than Taehyung had seen him in a long time. Concerned hands pulled him back into the crowd before he received far worse treatment from the Peacekeepers.

The final steps up to the stage might well have been the longest moment of Taehyung’s life up until that point. It was an odd sensation to know that everybody’s eyes were on you. At least the only ones he could see if he looked forward were those up on the stage. J-Hope was beaming at him, no doubt excited to see how the games would unfold this year. Zinni and RM were looking right through him, as if they were waiting for him to hurry up and die so they could move on with their lives. And Miso looked about as shitty as he felt, which made sense considering she was currently going through all the same motions as he was.

Taehyung let himself be grabbed by the wrist and presented to the crowd like some kind of prize.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes!”

Their hands were raised for them, faces painted with matching despondence. A camera hovered somewhere to his right, a reminder that his life was no longer his own. It belonged to the people now.

Shuffling behind them alerted him to the fact that Zinni and RM were slipping away, clearly reluctant to expend any more effort than necessary on this engagement. Well, they’d be better acquainted soon enough, Taehyung supposed.

It wasn’t long after that that the two tributes were being whisked away and he would have almost commended the powers above for their time management if not for his own concerns.

“Where are my family? You have to let me see them,” he didn’t know who he was talking to. Anybody that would listen. At least in this regard, J-Hope proved himself useful.

“Ah yes,” the pale oddity purred and gestured for the surrounding crowd of Peacekeepers and officials to part somewhat.

Predictably, his family was right there waiting, closing in for a hug even as they were all herded into the town hall and away from the limelight. Nearby, he caught a glimpse of Miso’s family doing the same. He didn’t even know what to say.

His mother, sobbing against his neck.

His father, cracks appearing in his well-worn armour.

His siblings, wrapped around him so tight he wondered if the Peacekeepers would have to physically remove them.

“I don’t know what to do,” was all Taehyung had a chance to say before they were taken away from him. But his father’s lingering nod gave him all the encouragement and reassurance he would need.

He would win, he started to say to himself. He didn’t have to play by their rules but he would find a way out of this somehow. He spared a glance at Miso and tried not to think about the fact that only one of them could make it to the end. Hopefully somebody else would take care of her so he didn’t have to worry about it. The thought made guilt spread through his body immediately soon followed by a wave of doubt.

“Taehyung!” a shout from the doorway had his neck snapping to attention. Unfortunately his wasn’t the only attention that had been grabbed and several Peacekeepers started swarming towards where Jungkook and Jimin were lingering in the entrance.

A grin broke out on Taehyung’s face.

“Wish me luck!” he laughed to keep himself from crying.

Jimin couldn’t say anything in response because he was too busy ugly sobbing into his sleeve.

“Good luck!” Jungkook yelled from afar and the genuine optimism in his voice might have been just what Taehyung needed to make it through the next phase of his life.

And then the door closed.

And he was officially on his own.


End file.
